


Destiny (Terror Firma Redux)

by Culumacilinte



Series: Take My Hand AU [2]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Episode Related, Fanart, Gen, Identity Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-03 23:49:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Culumacilinte/pseuds/Culumacilinte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a dull reflection of her visible in the carapaces of the Daleks’ metallic shells, and C’rizz could see the swirling bleed of pigment across her exoskeleton, an angry flush of dark purple like dried blood. ‘Go on,’ she breathed. ‘Exterminate me. I would rather die now than become a <i>monster</i>.’ An adaptation of  <a href="http://theheroheart.tumblr.com/post/50292308031">this scene</a> from the audio <i>Terror Firma</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Destiny (Terror Firma Redux)

 

She hadn’t known, before. How could she have? How could any Eutermesan know that none of them could truly be said to have a _self_ of their own, a moral compass, a personality separate and distinct from everyone around them? Eutermes zone and the company of her own kind was all C’rizz had known.

But now. They had only just left behind the Foundation— the _Foundry_ — only just left her universe for the Doctor and Charlie’s, and Rassilon’s words still echoed in her head. A dupe, a puppet; _social chameleons_ , unable to help the way they reflected those around them. Had C’rizz ever just been herself?

Anguished, she remembered L’da, how much easier it had been to leave the Church after she met her. At the time, she’d called it the strength of their love, L’da seeing her in a bad place and wanting her out of it, being strong for her until C’rizz was able to rip herself away. But that hadn’t been it at all, had it? It was so much simpler than that. L’da had wanted C’rizz to leave the Church, and after spending enough time with her, C’rizz had wanted that too.

Could she even be sure that any of their love had been real? ( _Of course it is_ , whispered L’da’s voice in her head). Or had it just been the two of them reflecting each other, unconsciously becoming more and more what the other one wanted.

( _Of course I love you_ , objected L’da, obstinate as ever, even in death. _How can you doubt that? Even if it was engineered by this Rassilon, that doesn’t make it any less true—_ )

It was there with Charlie and the Doctor too, the way she’d so smoothly become a part of their little team. The way she was able to exchange banter with Charlie, quick-patter amusement that might as well have been Charlie talking to himself. How willing she was to go along with their fascination with her colour-changing exoskeleton, playing games of blending in with walls or crayons or articles of clothing, even though she had always hated being looked at. She had, hadn’t she? She could feel it around the Doctor, the little flush and flip of infatuation that gave the lie to Charlie’s claims that he wasn’t in love with her.

She could feel it in the guilt. Not for L’da; _that_ was her own, she defied anyone to say otherwise, but for everyone else she had ever saved. Killed. If Charlie or the Doctor had killed the number of people she had, in the name of the Church, they would have been horrified with themselves, paralysed with remorse. And so, with them, C’rizz felt that too.

And now, Gemma Griffin. That was almost the worst of it. C’rizz had lost every last piece of her home, and today she’d lost the family of her adoption as well. But at least, she’d thought, she’d _hoped_ that with Gemma there might have been a chance. That if nothing else, she could take down the creatures who had killed Charlie and the Doctor.

But here were the Daleks.

_‘THE HUMAN FEMALE IS A DALEK AGENT.’_

And it was nothing but another manipulation. She didn’t understand, she didn’t _understand_ what was going on. C’rizz was sick with horror and fury as Gemma advanced, blind-eyed, into the squadron of Daleks.

_‘IS THE ALIEN SUITABLE?’_

‘She is.’

‘I— I thought you were the resistance,’ managed C’rizz.

So they told her. About their creator, their plans to overthrow him, their plans to conquer the Earth. For humanity’s good, they said; they would be saving them, making their lives without pain or conflict ever again, and C’rizz’s vision swam. She could feel herself torn between poles, wrenched apart inside her own body, her thoughts slippery. She knew that that made sense, that all things must die and in death be saved, but at the same time she knew that it was horrific and pointless and awful. They couldn’t both be true, could they?

‘And what about me? What do you want with me, what is the _point_ of all this?!’

Gemma smiled (a rictus smile, a dead thing on a dead girl’s face) as she declared C’rizz a killer. ‘I’m not a killer!’ C’rizz cried, and her smile only grew. But she was, Gemma said, and she was _perfect_ for their purposes.

C’rizz was shaking. ‘What purposes?’

_‘YOU WILL BECOME EMPEROR OF THE DALEKS!’_

Excelsior, the Church of Lucidity, even the Doctor and Charlie, though they didn’t mean to—

_‘YOU UNDERSTAND THE NECESSITY OF DEATH!’_

‘You’re already a Dalek, C’rizz.’

— Major Koth, Rassilon, her own father, _all_ of them had only wanted to manipulate her, use her, possess her, brainwash her, direct her—

‘We will establish a new empire; you will lead us to the stars!’

 _‘YOU_ WILL _BE LIKE US.’_

—everybody had a _plan_ for her, the perfect pawn, a gamepiece on everybody’s board but her own—

_'MOVE. MOVE, OR YOU WILL BE EXTERMINATED!’_

—and now this. These Daleks wanting her to be their emperor. All ready with a horrible tank-machine-thing, a Dalek shell that would consume her. Declaring her a killer, deciding for her, again and again and again, what she would do, who she would be.

Suddenly, C’rizz felt very cold. The feeling of being torn abated, leaving only a strange, quivering certainty.

‘No!’

 _‘MOVE!’_ shrieked the lead Dalek.

‘No! I— exterminate me.’

_‘MOVE!’_

There was a dull reflection of her visible in the carapaces of the Daleks’ metallic shells, and C’rizz could see the swirling bleed of pigment across her exoskeleton, an angry flush of dark purple like dried blood. ‘Go on,’ she breathed. ‘Exterminate me. I would rather die now than become a _monster_.’ Around her, the Daleks shifted uneasily. ‘Do it!’

_‘YOUR DEATH WOULD SERVE NO PURPOSE.’_

Yes, yes, and that would be better, wouldn’t it? C’rizz wanted to be good, wanted to be _herself_ , wanted it so badly. But if she couldn’t have that, at least she could have a pointless death. Better a pointless, anonymous death than to serve anybody else ever again. She almost laughed.

‘You don’t _understand_ , do you?’

_‘WE— DO NOT. DALEKS DO NOT SELF-DESTRUCT WITHOUT REASON.’_

‘I am _not_ a Dalek.’

Again, the Daleks shifted around her, little whirring noises from twitching eyestalks and whatever motors drove their machine-bodies. And then, slowly, the lead Dalek’s head-dome swivelled around so that its eye stared right at her.

_‘YOU— WOULD DIE TO SAVE YOURSELF. WOULD YOU DIE TO SAVE ANOTHER?’_

Her crystalline certainty faltered. ‘Wha- what?’

_‘WE WILL EXTERMINATE GEMMA GRIFFIN IF YOU DO NOT CO-OPERATE.’_

‘What, no!’ C’rizz whipped to face Gemma, whose eerily blank expression hadn’t so much as shifted. Not even human enough to care for her own life, and something in C’rizz ached with a fierce intensity of despair. ‘Gemma—!’

 _‘SUBMIT! SUBMIT, OR SHE WILL BE EXTERMINATED!’_ For a tortured moment, C’rizz stood still—

_‘GEMMA GRIFFIN—!’_

—and then she crumpled, her step forward heavy with bitter resignation. ‘Fine! Fine. I submit.’

There was a pause. Though Daleks had no faces, C’rizz imagined that the leader was smiling, a cruel, dead smile like the one Gemma had worn earlier.

_‘GOO-OOD. YOU WILL FOLLOW ME. GET INTO THE CASING; IT IS YOUR DESTINY.’_

_Destiny._

Almost physically, she felt the snap inside her as the resignation erupted into hot anger. ‘ _No_!’ she bellowed, and advanced on the Dalek. It was screeching at her to stand back, but it would do no more; they wanted her, they wouldn’t exterminate her, they could do _nothing_.

No human could so much as dent a Dalek’s casing, but C’rizz wasn’t human. Metal buckled and gave under her fingers as she wrenched the eyestalk away from the wildly spinning dome. The Dalek inside was shrieking, burbling commands, and C’rizz was howling wordlessly, roaring her rage as she battered at it with the torn-off eyestalk, with her own bare hands. She didn’t know now if the rage belonged to her or the Daleks around her, but she didn’t care. It felt like her own, it felt _good_ , as she broke open the Dalek’s casing, the metal screeching and moaning as she bent it back, peeling the Dalek open like so much raw fruit.

‘NO MORE!’ She plunged her hands inside and squeezed, and the Dalek creature squished under her hands, a lump of wriggling and twitching organic matter. Overcome with revulsion, she tore it free of the wires and tubes that attached it to the machine and flung it to the ground. Swinging around, she brought the eyestalk down like a club, pulverising the creature into a mess of blood and jellied flesh, shouting all the while.

‘I AM _SICK_ OF BEING _TOLD_ WHAT MY DESTINY IS! I WILL BE WHO _I_ CHOOSE TO BE!’

When she was finished, she stood breathing hard, her hands dripping with slime and green blood, the dead Dalek’s casing smoking behind her.

She was probably going to die. That was all right. In fact, that was fine. For once, the voices in her head were silent.


End file.
